Issue 8
Stompin’ At The Savoy
The Frantic Days of Horsepower and Black Power in San Francisco
Photography: Jay Watson
In the late Sixties and Seventies, the winds of change were blowing across America in ways that noone had ever seen. The Civil Rights Movement had lost many of its leaders, the Vietnam conflict had lost much of its support, the Sexual Revolution was in full swing and there was a general unrest among the nation’s youth.
It was hard to find more of a concentration of social upheaval than the San Francisco Bay Area. The city of San Francisco had always been a melting pot of cultural diversity, but groups like the Black Panther Party, the Nation of Islam, cult movements and a disenchanted student population were bubbling under the surface of an already electrically-charged atmosphere of discontent. Things were changing, that was certain, and though the outcome was anyone’s guess, the ride was nothing less than exciting.
The hot rod scene was also experiencing a growth spurt. There were more active drag strips in operation than at any other time in the Bay Area – Champion, Half Moon Bay, Fremont and others were hosting races simultaneously. Engines were larger than they had ever been before, technology was improving faster than anyone could imagine and the aftermarket was supplying gearheads with more available go-fast goodies than they knew what to do with. Add to all that a police force that was more than willing to turn a collective, blind eye to racing and the streets of San Francisco were the best place to be on any given night.
The Hot Rod Way Of Life, a movement in itself, is affected and has an effect on the entire social landscape. True, it can make strange bedfellows with what are seemingly unrelated causes, but the fact can’t be ignored. And there’s no better living and breathing manifestation of its power than Jim Savoy.
Back then, Jim was an aspiring young Black man living in the city with a family, strong ties to the community, owner of a liquor store and deli, two auto parts stores and, oh yeah – one wicked, little ‘51 Henry J gas coupe. In those days, it was hard to not be involved or at least be loosely tied to all that was happening: Huey Newton’s Black Panther Party had single-handedly changed the state’s gun laws after storming the governor’s mansion with all the firepower of a small militia, the “Zebra Killings” (named for the Z channel that the SFPD communicated with each other over during the investigation) had made front page news when the Death Squad – a secret faction of the Nation Of Islam – was exposed for killing more than seventy white people, Angela Davis had become a cult hero, Sly Stone was on the radio and the Fillmore district’s Blue Mirror was the only place to be on a Saturday night when Ike and Tina Turner came to town. “We all stuck together,” Jim remembers, “and we all knew each other. That’s just the way it was. The Black Community was a tight-knit group. Mainly because we had to be.”
But Jim also made his presence known outside of Hunter’s Point. His Savoy Auto Parts was widely known as the only shop open till 9pm (and later Jim would keep their doors open till Midnight. “I knew there were folks who broke down at all hours!”) and till this day, when the Savoy Henry J is mentioned at Gotelli’s Speed Shop, Brizio’s, or anywhere near Bruno Gianoli, eyes pop wide open and an air of reverence is felt. “That car would beat most anything on the street,” says Dave Cattalini of Brizio’s Street Rods, “I was a kid, but the other guys racing on the street were scared of that thing!” Street racing was an integral part of San Francisco’s car culture. And Jim knew that in order to make a name for his shop, he had to run a car. Was it a cunning business decision? Was it just a way to blow off steam on a Saturday night? Maybe both, but in typical Savoy fashion, he did it right and he did it with style. “Racing on the street was the biggest thing in town. There was lots of rivalry, there was lots of racing for side money and pink slips and we raced at night. ONLY at night.” The little J was not only a respected street fighter, but was a direct reflection of the lifestyle and the personalities of the guys running it. “Dad was never into that stuff,” recalls David Savoy, “but I remember that wild paint job – y’know, it was very psychedelic and really, everything was at the time.” The car was not only painted a wild candy purple, but featured asymetrical panels of fish-scales, scallops, stripes and the crowning jewel – a Savoy Auto Parts decal in the rear window comprised of a Black Power fist punching through a Peace Sign with the exclamation, “RIGHT- ON!” above it, egging on the action below. “A guy named J.R. Evans designed that thing,” David goes on, “and he was a real trippy dude. He was a DJ over in East Bay. One of those guys who was designing all kinds of crazy shit: pipes and bongs, posters…y’know, he even had this monkey that would sit on his shoulder and smoke pot. A pot-smokin’ monkey. Those were just some crazy days, I’m tellin’you.”
The mix of defiance and bold originality that made the Savoy Henry J was just an extension of Jim in a time when making a stand was not only fashionable, but imperative. “The S Squad was another problem in the city,” Jim said. “It was a gang of San Francisco cops who would take matters into their own hands. They were a real dangerous group and I had a few run-ins with them. A friend of mine was with me when we got pulled over by some of the S Squad one night. He had a broken leg and the cops made us get out the car to be questioned. We had done nothing wrong, but that was typical of these cops. Well, we were standing there for a while and I said to one of them, ‘Hey, why don’t you let him sit down in the car?You can see he’s hurt!’ And one of them told me to shut up and I could see the other go for his night stick. I said, ‘If you’re going to hit me with that club, you’d better kill me – I’ve never done anything wrong.’ He said, ‘Nigger, you know better than that!’ You had to be brave back then. You had to be brave.” Jim’s successful businesses would also be a conduit for his ability to impact and be impacted by a city not only changing, but changing the world, as well. He remembers the day that the SFPD cracked the Zebra Killings case. “We saw those Black Muslims on TV, being taken in. As it turned out, a few of them were in my store that morning. We just couldn’t believe it was happening.” Another pivotal experience in Jim’s came about when he stopped by a neighboring shop to ask for directions after he closed up for the night. “Because of the businesses I had, I used to keep a weapon behind the counter. I’d carry lots of cash and that’s just what you did. Now, I would put it in my briefcase to carry it out of the store at night and when I stopped by that place to ask to see a map that night, a guy ran up and grabbed my briefcase off the counter and took off down the street.” What took place next would change Jim’s life. “I ran after him and caught him! At that point, the cops showed up and pulled me off the guy.” The officers began to not only interrogate them, but asked what was in the briefcase. Jim told them that it was immaterial –the point was only that it was his and was stolen. With that, the cops opened the case, the gun fell out and Jim was promptly arrested for carrying a concealed weapon and assaulting a police officer. Now, the common practice at the time was to trump up a minor infraction and allow the Black defendant to plea-bargain the case in an effort to avoid what would most likely be an all-white jury.
And Jim Savoy was having none of it.
Much to the chagrin of the presiding judge, the case went to trial after Jim fired two incompetent lawyers, all the while facing the certainty of a maximum penalty if the jury convicted him. “But I knew I had done nothing wrong,” Jim said. “I knew that I had to go to trial. And I told the judge that if he let me answer any question and I got to tell my side of the story, I would be OK. I took the police to court.” That all-white jury found Jim Savoy innocent. Many years later, Jim would be walking through San Francisco’s City Hall when a man he didn’t recognize would stop and greet him. “He said, ‘You don’t remember me, do you? I was one of the officers who arrested you.’ He told me that he was sorry for everything that had happened. That he was wrong and he thought about it often, over the years. I said, ‘Do you know what you could’ve done to me? If I hadn’t refused to plea-bargain? If I would’ve let you do to me what you did to so many others?”
Much like the car that bore his name on the decklid, Jim was a man who wouldn’t back down from a fight, kept those fights clean and always walked away with integrity. In an era of red pushpins on a police station map signifying businesses as ‘unfriendly,’ corruption and oppression, it was also a time that was remembered fondly. “Willie Mays used to hang out at the Blue Mirror and was a friend of mine. We had some great times there. Also, The Washington Hotel was another hot spot. Any of the big acts to come through the Bay Area, we would get to see them at usually one place or the other.” Music was a force that united the Black community and it became a thread that weaved its way through Jim’s life in the city in all ways. “Sly Stone (of Sly and The Family Stone) was one of my best friends, back then,” Jim explains. “At that time, he was a DJ on the most popular radio station in town. If Sly said it, you listened. He had alot of power. Well, he would do all my radio ads, himself. For Savoy Auto Parts, for my restaurant; Old South Soul Food. He would also do appearances at the shop. It was great.” And all the while, the J would remind the most die-hard street racers of the Savoy name at the local tracks and on the nighttime streets.
Eventually, Jim would leave his beloved city and move to the southern area of California. But the Henry J, as well as his son and brother-in-law (who comprised most of the racing crew) would stay on in the Bay Area. After the car was put up in a storage warehouse and kept for a few years, Jim began to see his rental checks returned. “When I called the warehouse and asked why they were coming back to me, the only answer I got was that the car wasn’t there anymore.” Noone seemed to know what had happened to the car and Jim got no answers. “I just knew it would show up again. Sooner or later we’d find that car.”
Fast forward to 2003 and a gearhead with some racing experience named Toby Maciel spotted a crazy-looking Henry J gasser for sale at a Sacramento swap meet. “I had seen it once before, but the guy was asking too much for it,”Toby recalls, “and this time I got it for a good price.” The car had been abused. Looked like it was stuffed into a wall at one point. And it had layers and layers of what looked like old Sixties-Seventies psychedelic paint all over it. “The guy who had it before me had no business racing the car. I mean, the radiator was held in with plumber’s tape and I’m surprised it ran at all.” But there was also an interesting, old speed shop sticker in the rear window that got his attention. He could tell that the old warrior probably had some good stories buried in that paint, but when he asked around, all anyone could do was guess. Once Toby decided to roll it out onto the grass of some local car shows, the stories began to resurface. Questions started to be asked. Answers began to arise. And after more than twenty-five years, Jim Savoy got a call about a crazy little Henry J that seemed to have his name on it. And his heart buried in it. And part of his soul still rattling around behind that old, peeling, faded decal.
